Cosa Nostra
by wood pigeons
Summary: Kuchiki Rukia: hired killer, information source and part of Gotei, Karakura town's largest gang. When a new assignment forces her to play babysitter to some orange haired frat boy, she is left wondering if this time she can walk away unscathed
1. Chapter 1

Cosa Nostra

"Kuchiki Rukia, thirteenth division, sniper," the man, wizened and old lifted his eyes from the small brown file to gaze upon the young man with the shock of white hair.

Juushiro Ukitake smiled and nodded, it was his little protégé after all, a little genius that little girl, she had began her training when she had been a wee child, not even twelve and by the time she had been fourteen, she already had a name, Ice bitch. You couldn't help but to proud of that.

"The thirteenth division is not the sort of division which engages… are you sure about this Ukitake?" Yamamoto questioned, his brows knotting with the lines of his face.

Ukitake smiled, waving his hand towards his superior officer, "You mean that we typically are Gotei's underground sources, that we are weak?" The man's eyes hardened, the brown irises flashing yellow under the dim light.

The old man, looked benignly at the younger man in front of him. Placing the file on the small table, he faced his student, a hint of a smile lingering on his lips, the subtle indication of the bloodthirsty killer he had been thirty years ago. Tenderly fingering his cane, Yamamoto savoured the tension in the room. How long had it been, he wondered, since he had felt his student's calm disregard wash over him. Ukitake was a dangerous man, he smiled, patting himself on the back for a student well taught.

"If you regard her so highly Juushiro," Yamamoto smiled, "I am highly inclined to use her."

"You will not regret it," Ukitake replied, his face crumpling into it's old pleasant grin. "Rukia, she's one hell of a fighter." He continued, the sharp and harsh quality disappearing upon the mention of his subordinate. Reaching forward, he picked up the earthen teapot which lay on the table and poured out it's contents into the glass of his mentor.

"More tea, Yamamoto sensei?"

The old man sighed, luxuriating in the bitter scent of tea, Chinese Puer tea, top quality. Ukitake always did get the best. Nodding faintly, he pushed forward his glass and tried to enjoy the calming effects of the tea over his frazzled nerves, if the Kuchiki could not get it done, he would get it done himself even if that meant tying up all lose ends.

* * *

Kuchiki Rukia wiggled her toes. This was nice, she sighed, lying under the sun, doing nothing, daydreaming her life away, after how long did she really get the opportunity to do this sort of thing? Ukitake no matter his appearances or his illness was a workaholic and kept her working day and night, doing paperwork, she shuddered, no one should ever have to face the evil of the vile contraption. At least she wasn't in the sixth division, the business side of Gotei would have meant more paperwork and there would be Byakuya nii-sama to deal with, Rukia plucked a daisy out of the grass twirling it in her hand, bad news for Renji.

People passed her, couples holding hands, mothers with their children, joggers and walkers, Rukia closed her eyes, this was what it felt to be absolutely normal. No paperwork on which Irish gang killed which member of the new Russian mob which had sprung up, no information on who was dealing what, no files on the weapons which the Arabians were using. Hell, she could even forget about her guns, just a normal Japanese girl lying in the sun in a white dress, like in those sitcoms. Rukia sighed, thank god for her Sundays off.

Her phone rang, the shrill mechanical noise which constituted for a ring tone filled the air and Rukia snapped, immediately out of her reverie. Shit, she muttered, as she rummaged through her bag, digging through the pockets to find the offending contraption. She never had wondered what the ringing meant, her personal cell was always on viberate and her work phone ringing meant either one there was more paperwork to be done and more slimy bastards to threaten for information or weasel it out of or two there was someone to kill.

Finally finding the small cellphone, she checked the caller id twice, a district five number, excellent, that meant it was friendly. Snapping the phone open, she efficiently replied like a well-rehearsed secretary, like Ise Nanao, "Kuchiki Rukia."

After a series of nods and muttered affirmations, she spoke.

"I'll meet you at Checkpoint Charlie in an hour."

* * *

Out of all the checkpoints, the least one Shiba Kaien liked was Checkpoint Charlie. Why? Simply because it was loud, it was dirty and there were people. Not that Kaien was a misanthrope of the first degree, he actually relished attention and company. People at a checkpoint meant that it was easier to intercept messages, packages, it was easier for ignorant or even worse informed people to hear them and it was also easier to risk a shootout which would mean that Legal would come in and then would he get hell from Ichimaru, that bastard.

The dark haired man in a white shirt and blazer sat outside the Karakura Chow Place, situated just by the only amusement park in Karakura, which made it all the more crowded on a Sunday. His head ached from the noise, the heat and the strain from crowd watching, his eyes flicking from face to face inconspicuously, of course he had been doing this for too damn long after all, searching for Rukia.

Rukia was late, Kaien checked his watch for the umpteenth time, five more minutes and he would leave, feeling for the slight bulge in his jacket, he urged himself to relax. Five more minutes, he told himself, five more minutes before I call Ukitake to abort the entire thing.

"Kaien-dono," Kuchiki ran towards him, her hair flowing behind her like a short train of night. Grinning, his trademark grin, Kaien ran his fingers through his thick shock of hair and rose to meet his old student.

Short with pale skin and the largest eyes he had ever seen on a girl, Kuchiki Rukia looked the part of an average school girl. Hell, she even looked like a middle school kid if she tried, no one would ever have thought she was twenty two or even a ruthless, cold blooded mercenary. After nobody was scared of short cute little girls and no one could doubt those large indigo eyes which screamed innocence and could easily flood with tears just as long as Rukia willed herself to. And that was why little Rukia was his pride and joy, the ultimate killing machine.

"Kuchiki, you're late. What did I tell you about punctuality? You're only punctual if you're five minutes early." The dark haired man lectured her, his face contorting into an expression of annoyance which barely masked the relief he felt at seeing her, as he began to ruffle her little head. In this business when you weren't or time early it meant that either you were alive or dead and Kaien was just almost sure that Rukia was buried in a shallow grave, after all, the girl was never late. Damn Kuchiki perfection.

"I'm five minutes early, Kaien-dono," Rukia smiled wryly, showing him the face of the small watch she wore, "Two fifty five, five minutes before time."

Kaien glanced at the garish numbers which lit up the watch face, blinking red, and glanced back to his own watch, it had stopped. Well fuck, this was peachy, how was he going to run a fucking business with a stopped watch and the worse part was, he didn't even fucking realise it.

Kaien swore again and Rukia grinned as she watched her old teacher curse about inaccurate watches, going on a seemingly endless tirade about twenty first century time-keeping practices and how watches had been better back in the 1990s. She cleared her throat, staring at her mentor meaningfully until he understood the subtext of her actions, which took rather long due to the absorbed nature of his rant.

"Oh yeah, sorry about that Kuchiki. Here's the file, that's one little bugger they've got over there."

"Kurosaki Ichigo? Why him? He's just another frat boy," Rukia remarked cautiously, her brows knotted as she saw the image of the scowling boy with the unruly mess of orange hair, so bright it practically glowed. The colours people dyed their hair these days, Rukia thought disdainfully, shaking her head with the old grace her brother professed, how garish.

"It's that Kurosaki Isshin, he's under witness protection but Ukitake found out about it somehow. You remember good old Suoh Kishimoto don't you?"

Rukia nodded, remembering the grizzled Kishimoto who loved his sake and a good cigarette, he used to give me sweets, she thought back to her childhood when her brother had been a business man not part of the mafia. Kishimoto had been Byakuya's associate, foreign relations, he used to tell her, tweaking her nose and handing her a lollipop, lemon flavoured always lemon flavoured, her unspoken favourite flavour.

"He disappeared about fourteen years back," she replied softly, she remembered liking Kishimoto, who had carried a picture of his wife in his wallet, Masaki's my everything, he used to tell her, I'll do anything to keep her say.

"Well he squealed on us after his wife got gunned down in a shootout with Sugietsu, so after years of hunting him down, Ukitake, that creepy bastard, found him somewhere in Tokyo."

"So why him?" Rukia pressed, interested by the sudden plot twist, "I thought Suoh Kishimoto was dead."

"Well, Yamamoto wants to tie up all lose ends and that includes Kurosaki Ichigo, Kishimoto and his wife died when the boy was eighteen and as for his siblings well, they have all been targeted,"

"Targeted?"

The man glanced out of his reverie back at the little girl, disgruntled, pulling a hand to smooth the unruly shock of black hair, he forced himself to look at the girl. He always did hate being the bringer of bad news.

"Kurosaki Yuzu, that girl was killed two years back, car crash, which if you asked me, stank of the Fullbringers. While Kurosaki Karin, that girl she's a lucky one, two accidents, she's been shot twice but she's still alive and kicking, the worst she got away with was a broken rip and a fractured arm. Either way they're kids they know nothing unlike Kurosaki," Kaien smiled, the girl was a fighter and she wore her hair almost like Rukia, he had seen the pictures. "Information is all in the files," he added helpfully.

Rukia frowned, as she poured over the statistics of the boy in front of her.

"So just take care of the boy, his sister knows nothing and it would look bad if they both died," she stated, calm and composed, as she pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear, glancing at her mentor.

"Just get his entire database of information and everything in his house needed to find out about Kishimoto, that's all. Do not kill the boy."

Rukia raised an eyebrow, "I cannot kill him?" she asked. "Then how the hell do I get the information?"

Kaien averted her gaze, instead pulling out a pack of cigarettes after having fumbled around the pocket of his jack for a while, he was feeling nostalgic already, all this talk about the past. And he hated talking about old friends like this, they weren't just targets anymore, he sighed. Shoving a cigarette into his mouth, he lit it with gusto and sucked in the nicotine, breathing in it's heady scent, this was a good way to relax, he decided, smiling wryly.

His cute little student frowned at him, Kaien's grin widened and he closed his eyes, Rukia never did accept his smoking habit, another thing she probably picked up from Byakuya, that little stick in the mud.

"Well Kuchiki this ain't you typical kind of assignment, you're supposed to protect the boy."

Rukia blanched, this was different… "He has information on the whole of Gotei so why the hell just not finish him off," she glanced at the area around them, looking for stationary figures amid the frenzy of children and parents following tugged hands. "The dead don't talk," she added, "you taught me that."

"As much as I would like to tell you everything," Kaien yawned, the cigarette tipping dangerously out of his mouth, "I know nothing, but what I do know," he murmured smiling conspiratorially at the girl in front of him, "is that Yamamoto is a devious old bastard and Ukitake is a dangerous man and together, you have the two most twisted minds thinking up this extremely twisted plan. Don't worry sport, just follow the information and never question orders."

Nodding, Rukia picked up the file and stuffed it into the bag which she carried, before leaning over and kissing her mentor on the cheek, the kiss of a sweet little daughter. Kaien rolled his eyes at the pseudo act of affection, just another dimension of the little cruel killer he created. He watched as Rukia moved off into the distance, a little cute school girl, with a little cute rattan bag, who walked like she was dancing. There was a slight bulge in her sleeve, he noticed and smiled, good girl, not leaving home without protection.

Breathing out the steady stream of smoke, he picked the cigarette out of his mouth and tapped it on the table, watching as the ash daintily fluttered out rimmed red by glowing cinders. How long had it been, he wondered, since Rukia left home without her guns and her knives? Closing his eyes, he tried to remember but could not.


	2. Chapter 2

Cosa Nostra

Kuchiki Rukia was many things, hired gun, merciless killer, an information source but she was not a fucking babysitter, she even hated children for god's sake and now here she was lying on her couch reading the file that Kaien had passed to her, looking at the disgusting little face of the frat boy she was supposed to protect. How was she going to protect him anyway, Rukia wondered, she never had gone to college or high school for the matter. One perk of being a Kuchiki was the private tutoring which meant no annoying little brats getting in the way of her learning, her college degree came from Byakuya's own alma mater and he had pulled strings to ensure that she could take her exams, alone. Not that she really cared, Rukia never had really liked company and besides from what cable tv showed college to be, she wasn't too sure she would like it.

This job was going to be a mess, she thought to herself, closing her eyes for a moment and trying to visualise taking care of a target, a normal college going target, instead of a gun toting maniac like Momo. It was going to be difficult, she concluded, pursing her lips, and definitely messy since she was not going to be allowed to use her weapons in front him.

The door unlocked with a click and Rukia's hand instinctively strayed to her side, ust as Hinamori Momo, said gun toting maniac and Rukia's roommate waltzed into the room, carrying bags of groceries, a phone held precariously between her head and her shoulder.

"Hmm… Sure sure, Wednesday, twelve sharp, you hear me? The last time you boys were five minutes late. No, I don't care if there was bad traffic, you are supposed to be on time you hear me? Ok, good."

Placing the grocery bags on the couch beside Rukia, Momo slumped into the armchair opposite her.

"I am so fucking tired," she moaned, pushing the dark hair out of her eyes, as she placed her feet on the arm of the chair. Rukia raised an eyebrow at her friend, urging her to continue.

"It's the damn Russians, stupid time differences at this rate we're not going to get the next shipment," wailed Momo, "Shinji's going to have my head on a platter, on a silver platter garnished with radishes and all that."

"Your fault for setting it up," mumbled Rukia as she continued scanning the file, damn this Kurosaki kid had one long rep sheet, assault and battery, theft, lucky for him this was all sealed but then again, Ukitake did have his contacts.

Momo glared at her, the Hinamori death glare specially reserved for ex boyfriends and arm dealers who had bad time management. "My fault? Kuchiki, let's try this again before I take out my Glock and wipe the floor with your ass."

If this had been another person, another girl with this sassy little attitude and the same sense of self entitlement to her pity, Rukia would have laughed and rolled her eyes. But this was Hinamori Momo, the same Hinamori Momo which set up the entire arsenal which Gotei used to wipe out the Quincies, the same Hinamori Momo who supplied Gotei with their Carbines and Bushmasters, the same Hinamori Momo who after the arrest of her suppliers used pipes as temporary replacements for guns. This was one girl nobody wanted to tango with.

"Fine," Rukia snapped, "bad day sweetheart?" she continued in a saccharine sweet tone.

Momo looked at her, her face crumpled into a frown and a grimace, "the worse, the Russians are assholes."

"I'm sorry sweetheart."

"You don't mean it."

"Of course I don't… Ooph"

Momo's cellphone hit her with deadly accuracy, right in her solar plexus, that's what you get from Hinamori Momo, thought Rukia wryly as she hit her sore abdomen. Raising her hands in a sign of surrender, she smiled grimly at Momo, who immediately understood.

"New assignment?" she asked with a look of concern, "Who's next on the hit list?" Before adding with a little too much excitement, "is he hot?"

Placing her hand over her eyes, Rukia threw the file over towards Momo who eagerly reached for it, snagging it with a practiced grace.

"Ooh he is cute, Kurosaki Ichigo, what a manly name and what a hot face, too bad that he's going to die," Momo giggled, "at least tell me you're going to seduce him first."

Rukia turned and scowled at her roommate who continued to pout, muttering something about "inexistent love lives" and "women who needed sex". Out of everyone, Momo of all people should have understood that Kuchiki Rukia was a professional and professionals do not "camel hump" or have "steamy hot passionate sex" with people they had to kill or baby sit.

"So you're upset because you have to kill a hot guy?" Momo's voice rang out of her armchair, as she waved the file in front of Rukia's face, "Oh come on Rukia you have killed hotter guys."

Choking on her saliva, Rukia coughed violenetly and spluttered, "I don't give a damn if he lives." Stabbing a finger at the file, she growled, "I have to baby sit him."

"Rukia, you have to care if he lives or dies, Yamamoto will have your head if he's dead," laughed Momo, who collapsed back in a fit of giggles.

Rukia watched as Momo's mouth quirked with amusement and clamped her hands over her ears as peals of laughter resounded from her. This was going to be terrible, she sighed and closed her eyes, forcing herself to go to her happy place filled with rabbits dancing and jumping over each other in abandon.

If Rukia gave up her quest to be a killer assassin and to make her brother proud and all that jazz on living up to Kuchiki expectations and what not, Momo was sure that she would have gotten Rukia a boyfriend or at least a friend with benefits. Someone suave and handsome and had a killer body, somebody like maybe Renji from division six if Byakuya hadn't turned him into a pile of quivering pudding, someone who was a tiger in the bedroom and a gentleman in the hall, someone like her own Shiro. Except that Rukia wasn't too big on the idea that she was dating the "Ice King", the drug lord of Karakura town.

"_Hello Momo," Rukia greeted her in the cold hard voice which Momo recognised as anger and frustration, as she sauntered into the hallway._

"_Jeez Rukia turn on a light," Momo muttered. The hall was ridiculously dark, the only source of light was the dim glow of the moon which created shadows that danced across the room. Rukia's eyes gleamed ice blue, cold and fearless under the silver gleam of the moon, the shadows which danced across her face made her seem even more of the masked killer she was. Watching the girl sit on the couch in a dark room, her small figure outlined by the moon somehow seemed more terrifying than seeing her shoot her glock._

_Momo felt Rukia's eyes stare right through her, there was something so unnerving about those huge violet irises they seemed to judge and follow her as she moved even though Rukia remained seated, not even bothering to move from the couch._ "_Do not move," Rukia commanded, not even turning to face her, "Whose car was that Momo? Care to tell me?"_

_Breathing in deeply, Momo willed herself to stare back unabashedly into Rukia's eyes, forcing herself to not feel an inch of remorse, guilt or fear. Tensing her muscles, she turned towards Rukia and placed a cheerful smile on her face._

"_Nobody."_

"_I recognise the car plate," Rukia growled, "I'm not in the thirteenth division for nothing."_

_Momo gulped, of course Rukia knew who the care belonged to, the thirteenth division was the best information and reconnaissance division in Japan, they knew everything on anyone they were interested in. Rukia waved a file lazily in Momo's face, the brown paper file she recognised and frequently requested._

"_Hitsugaya Toushiro, age, 28. Occupation, Captain of the tenth division, the drug cartel of Gotei. Past number of flings, 55," Rukia recited, a small smirk gracing her delicate features, "how much do you want to date him now Momo?"_

_Momo scowled at her, reaching for the lighter in her bag, she flicked it open, setting the file alight. The warm glow of the flame bathed the room in orange and blue light, creating shadows and plains on Rukia's small and cold face._

"_Very much," Momo replied and leaving the room with dignity and grace, hugging the memory of Toushiro's kiss and smell of smoked cigarettes and gunpowdere to her chest._

Not that the warnings or the talks from Rukia did any help, when Momo fell in love, she fell hard, down into utter hopeless abandon. And now like the few in the business she was happy, satisfied and in love, aside from the fact that Shiro kun thought that she was an insurance agent and that she was supposed to believe that he was a corporate lawyer, they had a very healthy and happy relationship. Even with Rukia's information and connections in the thirteenth division, Momo knew the full extent of Hitsugaya's work, the drugs, the dealing, the unscrupulous means, the fact that no one in the tenth division was allowed to sample the goods or become addicted, non adherence to the rules would result to a nine millimetre to the head. Quick, simple and efficient. Unlike Momo and Rukia, Hitsugaya was a captain, the captain of the tenth division and was thus the face of the division, everyone knew what the captains looked like however no one really knew their subordinates. It was like how everyone knew Shinji as the weapons dealer boss but no one knew about Momo's existence or the fact that Shinji's signature on the papers was really hers. The only people who knew about the people in the divisions and not just their heads were the seated officers of the thirteenth division and the third division because everyone ran into legal problems somehow or another. Even Rukia with a squeaky clean record had one too many parking tickets which had to be erased just to make sure that her movements couldn't be tracked. Personally, Momo did have quite a few encounters with the third division and she could personally say that Ichimaru Gin the corporate lawyer turned head of Gotei's legal was one creepy bastard with his eternally persistent smile and the slit like eyes.

Anyway she was digressing from the issue, Shiro-kun had no idea who she was and thought that she was an insurance agent, a seemingly unromantic job which would create a certain lack of interest in her work, thus ensuring that no prying questions were asked and that their days would be filled with sweet love and hot passionate sex, just the way she liked it.

And while this resembled the plots one particularly sappy romcom she had watched, the first of many terrible romcoms she had watched with Rukia after a break up as they gorged themselves on ice cream, as she swore never do date again before falling head over heels for another asshole. She just hoped this one would work out, like how she did for the all the others.

But aside from her love life, there was Rukia's inexistent sex life which was at this moment more realistic than a love life for the girl. Kuchikis just weren't mean for love. Case and point, Kuchiki Ginrei, the old head of division six, his wife was gunned down right in front of him and then there was Kuchiki Byakuya, the current head whose wife had gotten hooked on cocaine and wasted away right in front of him despite rehab and all that medication. Some people just weren't meant for this sort of life but she could never say that in front of Rukia could she, Hisana always had been a touchy issue with the girl.

Either way, she was going to get Kuchiki Rukia laid, hard.

Momo got that little idea into her head after she saw Rukia lying on her couch reading her paper file, scrutinising every miniscule detail with attention. Rukia had that little look in her eye, the look of annoyance, it was a Kuchiki thing, it hardly manifested itself in her actions or her relaxed posture but it showed in the little twitch in her temple and the way she rubbed the bridge of her nose. While, Momo had began to worry for the poor sucker Rukia was about to gun down, she finally understood one thing.

Rukia was absolutely fuckable.

Not fuckable in the conventional sense, big boobs and long legs and all that Barbie doll sort of aspect, Rukia was the ideal Japanese school girl porn star. Cute, adorable and … cute, at least until she pulled her gun on you.

So when Rukia had began moaning about how she was not allowed to take out the poor orange haired bastard on her brown files, Momo conceived the mother of all hook up plans.

Sure the boy wasn't that good looking and she didn't know what the rest of his body looked like and while he was a scholarship kid and would spend most of his days studying or watching porn. It would mean that he had large amounts of sexual frustrations which could be vent out on the equally sexually frustrated Rukia which equated to copious amounts of sex and a happier, less worried Rukia who was eternally terrified of her cute little Shiro-kun.

The only problem would be that this was her target and Rukia didn't do her targets.

Momo shrugged, she would figure that through somehow.

"Thank you Kurosaki kun," the violet haired woman smiled, "my cousin will be here in a few days."

"Oh sure," Ichigo replied, returning Kotestu Isane's smile, "we owe you this for all the food you've provided us over the years."

Despite Isane's giggle and her melodramatic eye roll, Ichigo knew it was true, ever since he had turned eighteen he had moved right out of his aunt's house. Sure she had been great and had accommodated all their needs but that was the real problem there, she had been too wonderful and Ichigo had become a little too guilty with staying there and leaching off her meagre school teacher salary. So once he had turned eighteen and gotten his scholarship, he used the money from the will to get an average apartment with a nice neighbour and to pay for Karin's school fees, not that public high schools did cost that much but it did feel nice to be a little independent. But even though he was the 'provider' of the Kurosaki house and Karin sometimes did acknowledge it, Ichigo was not a homemaker. He would never be Kurosaki Isshin in the kitchen or out of it, he was not a cook and was most certainly not a father, a brother at best but he could never replicate the love or care his father showered on to them and Yuzu when they were kids. The worse part was that Karin actually remembered all that crap, she had been eight, the age where they remembered stuff clearly and when it became part of their childhood experience. Which meant she remembered all the ice cream trips and hugs and kisses even if she denied it, it meant that she knew what an actual wholesome family was like and knew that he could never replicate it. And that was where Isane was extremely helpful, she had been their surrogate mother for five years despite being only four years older than Ichigo, she cooked for them, talked to Karin about her female problems and boy troubles and she even asked them how their days had been. Sometimes it was almost as if she had entered their lives to help them carry on with it, to shoulder the load and stuff like that.

So as Ichigo waved towards the twenty seven year old Isane who entered the lift with her luggage, about to go on her three month summer course in Edinburgh University. He watched her leave, his mother, his friend, his confidante, walk out of his life and hoped that she would return to cook for Karin and him dinner once again. A little cheesy, a little too demanding but he honestly could not function without her, even so he smiled and waved good bye, happy that Isane could finally go on that medical course she had talked about and described in full detail to both Karin and him for the entire year.

He noticed how her walk had the slight lilt in it's step, how there was a slight sadness in her smile, how she had teared up as she hugged both him and Karin good bye. What he did not see however, was how after Isane had gotten into the lift she had flipped open her cell phone and dial a burn phone.

"Kotetsu, yes the boy is secure."

A nod and a slight smile.

"Will he be safe with her?"

A pause.

"No, I don't know her, we don't work together… Haha very funny, I don't even know her name. Yes, sure, okay. Bye."

Isane strode out of the apartment into the sunlight, the bright rays caused her to squint and turn back. Ichigo immediately waved towards her, a small smile gracing his face, Isane had been one of the only people to ever see him this unguarded and relaxed, he didn't mind it, she was family. As she waved cheerfully in return and stepped into the bright yellow cab, which was as bright and cheerful as her smile and her sunny demeanour, Ichigo watched as the cab drove off from the street and Isane went out of his life, hopefully to return with all smiles and some of that to-die-for lasagne which she made.

Wednesday night, it was dark and it was cold. Momo stood in her comfortable Nikes and black jacket standing in the cold summer air, the wind was dry and it sliced against her face uncomfortably. Beside her Shinji sat slumped against a wall, fiddling with his new phone and from the constant bleeps and annoyingly cheery music which emanated from it, was most probably playing fruit ninja. Sneaking a side long glance at her watch, she noted the time, twelve fifteen.

They were late.

Momo was worried, the Russians despite their time differences and continued complaints were seldom late, they came on time or some times even earlier, waiting at the docks for her and Shinji to show up. And in this business, punctuality and timing was everything, it meant being able to escape and slide into the dark narrow alleys before the police arrived, it meant getting the cargo out of the way before anyone noticed, it meant ensuring that none of them needed to call Ichimaru Gin for help.

Resisting the urge to whip out her phone and call Sergei again for what had been the fourth time in the hour, Momo began to pace, walking up and down the strip of concrete. To say that this was not her typical Wednesday night would have been a lie but she had better Wednesday nights, like for example last week when she finished her paperwork early and went back home for cold pizza and a terrible action movie where all the shooters always missed their targets, all except for the protagonist with his oily, greasy hair, that condescending smile and a bad gun stance. Whoever could hold a gun with one hand, his right foot twisted towards his left and his knees weak and wobbly from what seemed to be the onset of arthritis and still aim straight was not just a god, he was a big fake.

"Calm the hell down, Hinamori," Shinji muttered, still staring at the alluringly bright screen of his phone, "You're making me feel antsy."

Momo bristled, she had a right to be antsy, this was the day that one of the biggest deals of the year was about to be going down and the Russians who were never late, were late, half an hour late and Sergei's phone was switched off, constantly redirecting her to voice mail. She immediately stopped in her tracks and began fiddling with her the sleeves of her jacket, pulling at the fraying threads until they broke lose. Shinji continued his fingers dancing across the screen of his phone.

"That's enough, we're going," Shinji suddenly stood up, sliding the phone back into the pocket of his jeans, he pulled on the brim of his cap and immediately began to slouch out of the cargo area of Karakura Port.

Momo blanched, "What but the Russians will… they… I…" she stuttered, shocked at his absurd suggestion. Had Shinji read her notes, this was going to be Gotei's main shipment for the year, where they would be getting most of their arms, they needed to stay.

"Look Hinamori, the Russians are not late. If they're not here, something is wrong and we must leave… now." Shinji immediately answered and began his exit.

Nodding somewhat reluctantly, she followed after him, knowing somewhere inside that he was most probably right. After all there had been one point in time when Shinji had been a lieutenant getting all the paperwork and none of the press time and no matter how obsessed with the absolutely stupid, pointless game of fruit ninja, he knew his stuff. Slipping out of the open back gate, they moved out towards the almost deserted main road, looking the part of a regular couple taking a nightly stroll. Then it happened.

Wails of police sirens filled the air and men dressed in the uniform blues and blacks jumped out of their cars, waving their pistols as they moved towards the entrance of the docking area.

Wielding a police badge, one of them passed the guard station first, striding into the port with quick efficient steps, while the rest of his battalion followed loyally behind him. Despite gazing at them from across the street, Momo stiffened involuntarily when she saw the entire group of them, law enforcement did always have that sort of effect on her, the entire idea of being caught and forced to stay in a steel and concrete cage was not entirely appealing to her. Shinji pressed against her, forcing her to move forward, urging her to avert her gaze and to seem more inconspicuous in the night.

They continued moving for another four blocks until they reached the pub, the dark, dim place known as Katen Kyoukotsu and sidled into the building, a tired couple come in for a late night drink. The dimly lit room was filled with people, old men looking for their youth at the bottom of a bottle of gin, young college kids drinking shots, laughing loudly in their corner, little couples who huddled in their booths whispering and giggling to each other as they twined their fingers around their partner's hands. Momo gave a small smile, it reminded her a little of Shiro.

Immediately moving towards the empty counter, Shinji motioned towards the bartender, a tall, dark latin man, whose dark hair was tied loosely in a ponytail, secured by a flowery rubber band.

"Shinji, what can I get for you a marguerite? Vodka? Gin or Gin?" Kyouraku laughed weakly at his joke, "Hey… come on man," he whined as one of his female patrons splashed a drink into her date's face before stomping out of the room. "You're paying for that upholstery," he yelled, pointing and gesturing wildly, towards the man who immediately got out of his booth and flipped him off, following the girl outside, apologizing profusely to her with a faux look of remorse imprinted on his face.

"People these days, if only I could shoot them all," smiled Kyouraku as he fixed himself a drink, before putting a garishly pink umbrella, sticking it like a flag into the yellow concoction "so what exactly do you want?"

Shinji turned to look at Momo who was huddled in a booth, her hand resting calmly against the bulge in her jacket, a wary smile on her face.

"Get me a strong one," he answered pointing towards a bottle vodka on the wall shelf, "and then get me Yamamoto, Interpol is on to us."


End file.
